Pieces of Us
by Jigglypuffer
Summary: They saved the world. Nobody died this time. And Raleigh basks in the joy of a canceled apocalypse. post series, film canon, everybody lives


Raleigh looked around blearily. The party was still in full-swing. Somehow, against all odds, they'd done it. They'd beaten the kaiju and their fucking masters and destroyed their fucking bridge.

And somehow, they'd did it without losing anyone else. There was a part of Raleigh that had had a flash of insight or precognition or _something_ just after he'd ejected Mako. As if something had shifted in the universe like when the Breach first opened, but this time it was a _good_ thing. As if some terrible sorrow had been averted. At the time he'd been too busy trying not to die before saving the world to care.

Then they'd learned that all of the other pilots had survived as well. Sure, they were all critically fucked up and Stacker still had cancer eating away at him, but they'd endured drowning and exploding and kaiju stompage—as Newt said—and any myriad of things that could have gone wrong. They'd lost so many, so many millions, in the years before. Maybe someone was finally looking out for them.

Now those who weren't currently bedridden were drunk off of their asses—and most of the wounded as well. Herc and Mako made a point of visiting their respective family in sickbay regularly, but then they'd also joined in for a round or six. Hermann made a big show of counting the minutes since they'd saved the world (2222, by his count) to prove that he wasn't completely blitzed. The Russians had insisted, loudly, for vodka in their room when they could speak again. Even the few nondrinkers on base broke open the only remaining bottles of real grape juice to toast the canceled apocalypse.

The party moved like a river through every room. Raleigh could hear the Wei Triplets singing in Cantonese while a very-obviously smashed Tendo tried to harmonize. Raleigh smirked, knowing that the Weis knew more Cantonese than Tendo, despite growing up in a completely different region. They had a friendly rivalry; it sounded like the Triplets were winning tonight.

But then, they were all winners tonight. Raleigh's smirk turned into a wide smile when he spotted Mako weaving her way over to him as he sat against a table leg in the mess hall, Newt's ancient techno blaring from several mp3 players rigged together to form a makeshift stereo. Hundreds of crew danced and laughed, and those who fell were hauled to their feet and danced some more or were dragged off and forced to rest by their friends. Everyone looked out as best as they could for each other; it wouldn't be a real celebration if anyone got trampled or died of alcohol poisoning.

"Hey." Mako sat down heavily, her usual poise lost to adrenaline and fear and joy. They hadn't really had a chance to talk since they'd destroyed the Breach. First they'd been hauled back to base, too tired to do anything more than shiver in each other's arms and mourn before they knew the truth. Then there were congratulations and revelations of living family and calls to the government.

When he'd awoke from his surgery Marshall Pentacost, bless his soul, had told all of the bigwigs to fucking leave the Shatterdome alone for a week. Covered in bandages from head-to-toe, raspy through a feeding tube, and as pale as the death he'd narrowly missed, Stacker Pentacost told his commanding officers, in no uncertain terms, to "bugger off" and give them time to celebrate. Then, Pentacost being Pentacost, he'd sat on the phone for hours, explaining everything and providing sound bites and being the perfect soldier again, listening to rebuke after rebuke and enduring it all without a word. Raleigh wanted to smash in a wall when Mako had told him.

"We saved the world and he almost died and they're talking about dishonorably discharging him or even trying him for treason! For saving the world because they were too fucking scared to do it!" But then she'd taken his hand and he'd felt her in the Drift, her relief that her father was alive and her happiness that Raleigh was too and how it didn't matter, it didn't, because they were alive.

They were all alive. Everyone survived this time, and Raleigh couldn't even find any sorrow in his heart at the loss of Yancy at that moment. They saved the world, booze was flowing, and Mako Mori was sitting next to him on the floor while techno drowned out their words. Pain could wait one fucking day.

Mako's joy wafted from her as she leaned into him and his arm automatically encircled her waist. Raleigh didn't need the Drift to feel how happy she was or how tired. Mako took his other hand in her own and softly stroked his fingers as she spoke.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Raleigh said as best he could. Mako continued to gentle knead his hand as she looked up and smiled.

"For saving the world."

"Nah, it wasn't me, Mako. It was you. We couldn't have done it without you or the others." Mako smiled wider and Raleigh swore that her eyes were just as beautiful half-focused and dim with beer.

"Yes. I don't diminish my own part, Raleigh, or those of the others. But you also fit into this all." Mako swept a hand over the party. Raleigh couldn't concentrate very well on anyone in particular, but the dim light and his hazy vision made the people meld into a colorful mural. Like the grains of sands in Alaska, alone and together. One and many.

The kaiju could keep their fucking hive mind of droning singularity. Raleigh was fine with a few billion people so different that they still had more cultures and societies and words than thousands of years of movement would make you think. They'd beaten the kaiju with just the Drift and the combined obstinacy of the human race. They'd make it. Alone and together, one and many.

Raleigh leaned backed and closed his eyes, the bass beating in his ears and Mako's hands in his own.


End file.
